


2. The View from the Beach - Inter-Views

by Denise_Felt



Series: Inter-Views [2]
Category: Gerry Anderson's UFO
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denise_Felt/pseuds/Denise_Felt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And should she ever agree to meet with him a second time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	2. The View from the Beach - Inter-Views

## The View from the Beach

  
by Denise Felt  2010

 

She walked across the sand, her eyes on the ocean as it surged against the beach. Its salty smell was strong today, and the gulls were loud in their enjoyment of the feast each wave provided them. She kept her mind blank with an effort, lifting her face to the breeze and focusing on enjoying the view as if she were a seagull.

 

He watched her from where he sat further down the beach on an outcropping of rock and grass. She looked very solitary on the sand, and quite withdrawn. He wondered if she already knew the reason he had asked to meet with her again; then decided that she would, of course. And from the looks of it, she wasn't too pleased with him. Well. He had known from the outset that it wouldn't be a simple matter.

 

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said after several minutes had passed.

 

She turned and saw him then, her contented smile fading as she met his eyes. "I wasn't sure I would come, either," she said quietly.

 

Since she didn't come any closer, he stood and walked to where she stood on the sand. "Do you like the view?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

 

She met his eyes fleetingly, then returned her gaze to the waves. "Yes."

 

Straker raised a brow at her monosyllable. No, she wasn't happy to be here. "Do you recognize it?"

 

Her lips tightened, as if she was holding in a strong comment. He wondered what it would have been? Then she said, "It's the beach in Maryland that I visited once."

 

"You're drawn to the ocean, aren't you?" he asked.

 

She shrugged. "I don't know why. I mean, whether it's just me or if everyone feels this way. But it calls to me. I wasn't born anywhere near an ocean, nor did I grow up around one. But once I saw the sea for the first time, it was as if I'd been waiting all my life until that moment."

 

"It's a powerful image, and I know you like those," he said. "Power – and dramatic possibilities."

 

She swallowed, then turned to meet his eyes. Hers were dark in her face. Dark and fierce. "I know why you chose this place. And I want nothing to do with it."

 

"Yet you came."

 

She sighed and looked back at the ocean surging against the sand. "I guess I hoped that I was wrong. That you merely wanted to talk."

 

"And you're not averse to talking?" he asked quietly, a small smile on his lips.

 

She almost smiled in return. "I like to talk."

 

"Then we'll talk," he said. "You've been a little harsher to me in your latest stories. Have I upset you?"

 

Now she did smile. Quite wickedly. "It was therapeutic to write that story. I needed it."

 

"Thanks."

 

She met his eyes. "It wasn't about you. Everything isn't about you, you know."

 

His brow raised. "Funny how I'm the one who gets tortured, though."

 

She grinned, unrepentant. "Yeah. Funny about that."

 

He chuckled. "You're incorrigible."

 

"I know." She sounded proud of it.

 

He admired her profile as she watched the waves. "I want to know you better," he said quietly.

 

She didn't look at him. "You already know me too well."

 

He grinned suddenly, realizing why she was upset with him. "Because of this place? I would have thought it would bring back happy memories for you."

 

She met his gaze then, her eyes dark with anger. "You chose this place because this is where you first seduced Sheila!"

 

"Really? You never wrote that in a story."

 

"Don't play coy. You know what the original plot was – that you had an affair with her."

 

"I do seem to remember that, now that you mention it."

 

"And you wanted to remind me of it," she said fiercely.

 

"I don't know why that would bother you."

 

"Yes, you do."

 

He lifted a hand to smooth a lock of her hair away from her cheek. She froze at his touch, staring into his eyes with something almost like fear in hers. "Why do you fear me?" he asked softly. "I won't hurt you."

 

She closed her eyes on a sigh. "You would destroy me."

 

His hand dropped in surprise. "How?"

 

She shook her head, stepping away from him a little as though she needed the breathing room. "Do you ever think about how writers live? How they function in the world? Do you know the percentage of writers that are drunks or drug addicts?"

 

"I'm not sure I'm following you," he admitted.

 

She turned to face him. "It's because the world they created is much easier to handle than the one they live in. Even when it's a dire place, they at least have some measure of control over it. And life – life defies control. So it's harder by far than fantasy."

 

"And you prefer life, even though it's harder."

 

She sighed again. "No, of course not. I prefer the world I created, or else I wouldn't have created it. But it's not an option for me to stay here. I have loved ones, those whose well-being matters to me. If I checked out of life for long periods of time to dwell in fantasy, it would hurt them. And I'd miss important events in their lives. So I restrict myself, keeping my excursions into fantasy at a minimum for them."

 

"You sacrifice your happiness for theirs," he said quietly.

 

She shook her head. "Not really. I am happy in my life. It's rich in laughter and full of people I think are wonderful. And I don't want to lose it. I won't lose it. Even for you."

 

"Yet you'd like to stay. Here. With me."

 

She refused to look at him. "It's not an option."

 

"Tell me this," he said after a moment. "Will there ever be a time when you'll let me have a larger place in your life?"

 

She grimaced. "You already occupy too many of my thoughts."

 

"And you resent that." It wasn't a question.

 

She looked at him then, rather beseechingly. "No. Not completely. You were there for me as a teen when I had no one. You gave me a glimpse of what a man was supposed to be like, when my real-life male role models were working towards destroying any positive thoughts I'd ever had about men. I needed you then, and I suppose I never stopped needing you. I wish I didn't need you. I wish I could set you aside and get on with other things. But I don't think I'll ever be free of you. I sometimes wonder if I'll have to answer for that later."

 

"To your God?"

 

She shook her head. "To my husband."

 

"Does he resent your time spent writing about me? Does he compare himself with me and find that he's wanting?"

 

She smiled slightly. "No. Of course not. He thinks it's great that I write. He wishes I got paid to do it, but that's just because he thinks I should be rewarded for my efforts. And he knows I would never let myself compare the two of you. It would be unfair. And I try to always be fair."

 

"Fair?" He looked sternly at her. "Shall we talk about what's fair? I've been in your life much longer than he has. I was there long before even your first husband. Where is my share of you? What would you consider fair to me?"

 

She stared at the rolling waves as they surged onto the sand. Such power, she thought. Such beauty. And such danger. Like the man beside her. "I can't be fair to you. It's that simple. But I try to compensate for it in other ways."

 

"Oh?"

 

"I gave you Sheila. And Chandra. PAM, AnE, Desiree, Faye. Even Mary that one time. Did you like my version of her?"

 

He sighed. "I'm grateful for them. They each have been a joy to me in their own special way. And I'm aware that they have pieces of you in their personality. Is it wrong of me to want the real thing instead of the copy?"

 

She almost smiled. "You don't know when you're well off. I'm a lot harder to deal with than any of them would be. They show my best side. You don't want to see me at my worst."

 

"Is that a challenge?"

 

She chuckled suddenly, relaxing for the first time since they'd been speaking. "You couldn't handle me. Trust me on that. It takes a very laid-back guy to deal with me. My husband isn't the only lucky one in our partnership."

 

His blue eyes lit up. "You_ are _challenging me," he said softly.

 

She looked surprised. "Not at all!" she demurred, fluttering her hands at him. "Just stating facts. Look. You're not Paul Foster, so you don't need another notch in your belt. And you're not Alec either, so you don't just want someone in your bed to make the night pass easier. So – why me? Can't you just accept the bevy of lovely ladies we fanfic writers send your way? Can't they be enough for you?"

 

"Now you're trying to piss me off," he said grimly. "Dammit, you know why it has to be you!"

 

"No. I honestly don't."

 

He stared at her for a long moment. She looked back at him, her gaze openly inquiring. And he realized that she really didn't have any idea. He sighed. "I've been with you for most of your life," he said. "I saw it all, you know."

 

She flinched and looked away, staring out over the waves to the horizon so far away.

 

"I know what you went through – what torments you endured in your own home. And even when you escaped to college, you hid inside yourself so effectively that it was difficult for anyone to reach you. And yet – here you are looking as if you'd never had a scar. You survived it. And more than that – you overcame it, so that it hasn't even left a mark on you. I can't help but admire your courage. And your strength. You amaze me. How can I not be drawn to the woman you are?"

 

Her unusual eyes had the sheen of unshed tears as he watched her watching the ocean. After a few minutes, she said somewhat calmly, "I'm sorry. I can't be what you want. Why is it necessary? Can't we just be friends?"

 

His laugh held very little humor. "Tell me something. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say that you could be just a friend with me?"

 

She turned to meet his gaze, searching his blue eyes for a long moment. Seeing his integrity; his keen intelligence. His passionate nature. She sighed and dropped her eyes. "I guess not," she admitted softly.

 

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied, reaching over and sliding a wayward curl behind her ear. "Since I would find it impossible to think of you as just a friend."

 

She met his eyes in surprise, and he realized that she truly had no idea of how she affected him. The hand at her ear slid around to the back of her neck, drawing her closer. He waited until her gaze dropped to his mouth, then he leaned down and kissed her.

 

He kept a firm grip on himself, taking his time with the kiss. Sipping her slowly as he would a fine wine. Teasing her lips apart with tiny nips. Then sinking slowly into the fire that awaited him. Her hands slid up to his shoulders and into the hair at the nape of his neck, and a low moan echoed from her mouth to his – and back again as he drew her even closer.

 

When they drew apart, he said huskily, "This is why it has to be you. This fire. It brings me to life."

 

"Yes," she sighed, then slid from his arms.

 

"Denise," he said, reaching for her once more.

 

But she shook her head, backing away from him. "It's not an option for me. I'm sorry."

 

He wanted to grab her back into his arms and prove to her that she felt what he did. But he knew he'd lose her for good that way. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

 

"I don't cheat," she said firmly.

 

He was astonished for a full minute. "But . . . you said it yourself. Reality. Fantasy. How can anything we do be called cheating?"

 

She looked at him, her eyes full of regret. "That's just it, you see. I've never seen you as a fantasy. To me, you've always been real."

 

His heart leapt at her admission – until he realized what it meant. He knew her fierce loyalty; he'd witnessed it enough times over the years to know how deeply it ran in her. She would never cheat on the man who was her husband with another man. And to her, that's what he was – a real live man. In spite of the fact that he could not inhabit her world, to her he lived and breathed in the world she had created. Damn. He could hardly ask her to see him differently.

 

"That's what you meant, wasn't it? Earlier – when you said I could destroy you."

 

"Yes." She looked at him for one more moment, standing there on the sand with the waves surging behind him and the late afternoon sun in his hair. "I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry."

 

Then she turned and headed inland.

 

"Denise," he said.

 

She looked back, the setting sun giving her face and hair a soft glow.

 

"Promise me something."

 

Her look turned wary. "What?"

 

He smiled wryly. "That you'll give my next lover olive eyes with a brown ring around the pupil."

 

She shook her head at him and turned away. But after a few steps, she stopped and said, "I'll think about it."

 

He watched until the high grasses hid her retreating form from view.


End file.
